


age-old, but not fate-old

by littlestarsaligned



Category: NU'EST
Genre: Gen, Humor, This is so dumb I'm so sorry, minhyun deserves some peace and quiet...but he's not gonna get it lmao, some jbj cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestarsaligned/pseuds/littlestarsaligned
Summary: Minhyun's having a bad day. Actually, it's more like a bad month. So when his co-worker Jonghyun offers him a free stay at an old Victorian house turned hotel he takes him up on his offer. Only, it's not as relaxing as he'd thought it would be.





	age-old, but not fate-old

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jarofactonbell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofactonbell/gifts).



 

Minhyun likes to think of himself as a decent person. He pays his taxes, recycles, and even shows up for work on time. Regularly. Honestly, compared to half of the other workers in his division, he should be receiving a gold star every week. He’s not employee-of-the-month level, but at least he’s not Kim Yongguk from marketing who turns up at 1pm for his 8am shift with his cats in tow.

 

The only time he’d even got close to losing his sanity in the office was when his intern Seonho forwarded an unauthorised email to the whole department and gave every computer in the division a virus. Following that incident, Seonho has been trusted only with the tasks of retrieving coffee and playing solitaire at his computer desk. If Minhyun’s lucky, Jonghyun will call Seonho to his desk a few cubicles over and make up some kind of task for the younger to complete. This gives Minhyun a good few hours of undistracted and uninterrupted time to finish his work, which shouldn’t really be difficult to begin with. For most of his day he just sits in his cubicle anyway, replying to emails and inputting data into spreadsheets, over and over. It’s not exactly hard to mess up with work like that.

 

However, the one thing Hwang Minhyun is less than exemplary in is maintaining his sleep schedule. It’s like playing a game of darts, blindfolded, and with no arms. Eight hours of sleep? Five if he’s lucky, three if he’s pushing it. So, he really shouldn’t be surprised that he falls asleep in his meeting for the fourth time this month. Yet, once the finance reps start drawling on about the budget for the big project suddenly Minhyun’s neat, bound folio seems like the most inviting pillow for his head.

 

Across the table Jonghyun starts tapping his pen loudly and frantically as if that could summon Minhyun back into the very much awake world. Too late, the head of finance finishes his pitch and turns his head toward Minhyun to summarise the resource configuration and is greeted with the top of his head and a thin line of drool. Definitely not his best moment.  

 

Before he can even defend himself, the head of finance sighs and promptly scribbles Minhyun’s name off the project list and scrawls in someone else’s. Probably Joo Haknyeon from a few cubicles over who makes really shitty coffee. Minhyun has the audacity to feel offended.

 

The meeting wraps up and Minhyun wishes he’d just slept through the whole thing.

 

“How do you manage to fall asleep _every time_? We’re in facilities management, it’s not like we work in the legal division,” Jonghyun whines once everyone has left the room. He grips the back of Minhyun’s chair and steers him into the hallway.

 

“I can’t believe that asshole threw me off the team though,” Minhyun sighs exasperatedly, “I was really looking forward to my pay cheque from that project.”

 

“Y’know what you need?” Jonghyun pipes up as he wheels Minhyun into the break room on his swivel chair. Minhyun yelps as Jonghyun accidentally drives the chair into the doorframe.

 

“Wider doors? Shorter legs? Another coffee?” Minhyun answers, rubbing the spot on his shin that had collided with the door.

 

Jonghyun grins, “I was thinking of something a bit more useful.”

Minhyun throws his head back in the chair and looks up at Jonghyun with a blank expression.

 

“I was thinking a nice break, a few days away from work for the first time in your life.”

 

“You know what? That actually sounds pretty good. I could probably get what, half a week off? Spend it all in bed, away from Seonho’s spam chain mail emails. Sounds like a dream.”

 

Jonghyun scoffs, pouring the remains of the coffee pot into a paper cup. He forces it into Minhyun’s hand and sits up on the bench. “Leave Seonho alone. He’s your intern, his point is to drive you up the wall. And you are _not_ spending a free break at home. I’ve got free accommodation at this hotel across the city. They owe me a debt so I get free stays whenever I want. It’s perfect.”

 

“This is cold,” he pouts, sipping at it anyway, “and since when do you have a hotel in your debt?”

 

“My cousin owns one. Or his family owns one I guess. He has like, six favours he owes me and you’re lucky I like you enough to waste one on you,” Jonghyun replies.

 

“Your cousin owns a hotel,” Minhyun frowns, “and you live in a gaudy apartment complex. Last upgraded in the 60’s, at least.”

 

Jonghyun can’t argue with that. He laughs, fiddling with the top button of his shirt under his tie.

 

“Well, technically he’s not my cousin.  You know those cousins who aren’t really your cousins? I tutored him for like, two years in university, so he thinks he owes the success of his degree to me.”

 

“Yeah, I guess that would make one an honorary family member,” Minhyun snorts, taking a drawn out sip from his cold coffee, “a discount cousin, in your case.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just think about it okay?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's not a Monday but it rains anyway.

 

_ Kwon House _ stands tall and solitary on the crest of the hill, catching the last lights of the day as the sun finally dissipates behind the horizon. The long gravel driveway winds up towards some kind of Addams-Family-esque house, a few perpendicular windows lit on the upper stories glimmering like beacons in their distinctive Victorian style. The front garden is littered with an assortment of garish topiaries and a line of vermillion roses stand proudly by the entrance like a row of soldiers standing at attention.

 

The sun descends, pouring a warm Wednesday glow over the cityscape. Somewhere else a poet will be brought to tears over the glittering effect the rain creates on the concrete, how the poor weather makes the sunset a special hue of gold. But poets are poets and Minhyun is Minhyun, and to him it's wet and he didn't pack extra socks.

 

Minhyun shuts the taxi door behind him with a muted _bang_ , shoving a few notes towards the driver and hurriedly tells him to keep the change. The taxi drives away leaving behind only the crunching sound of gravel under its tires. In the drizzle of rain, Minhyun trudges silently up the path towards the building, case gripped firmly in his cold hands. He kind of appreciates the revived gothic architecture in this moment, making everything seem so much more morose. 

 

He opens the glass doors at the front of the building and wanders into the reception, instantly embraced by warm air. _Kwon House_ may have been built in the 1800’s but it at least has ducted heating. A godsend, really.  The foyer is quite empty, but not lacking. The few pieces of furniture paired with the art on the walls is grandiose enough to give the small space an distinguished aura. The reception desk is a dark mahogany, its pillared legs carved with swirling recesses that make it look like it would cost a few hundred year’s worth of wages.  

 

On its glossy, lacquered top sits a lonely bell. Behind the desk on the wall (hideously wallpapered in Minhyun’s opinion) a clock remains ticking, black decorative hands pointing to 4:36pm. There's no one at the front desk, or in the reception, except for one old looking man tucked away on the furthest sofa reading an outdated newspaper. Nothing else in the room moves except the flickering city lights in the distance framed by the tall windows. Minhyun taps the bell once, twice, letting the shrill chime echo in the seemingly empty room.

 

He almost loses his balance when someone suddenly springs up from behind the desk, kicking a chair back in the process and grimacing as it slams against the wall with a crash.

 

“My dad’s gonna kick my ass if there’s a dent in the wall again.” The receptionist hisses. 

 

The receptionist shuffles a few papers on the desk into an even messier pile and smiles at Minhyun, the lid of his right eye twitching slightly. Pinned to his rumpled suit is a plastic name tag reading _Hyunbin_ with the last character stuck on upside down. 

 

“Oh, shit, sorry man - I didn’t even hear you come in,” Hyunbin mumbles, “you want a room?”

 

“Yeah, my friend booked a room for me? He knows the owner or something.”

 

“Ah, Jonghyun. Okay, no worries,” he replies, rummaging through one of the desk’s drawers, “just give me a sec.”

 

A sec turns into a few minutes which includes the receptionist pulling the whole draw out of the desk knocking his paper cup of coffee onto the ground - which he’s lucky is floorboards and not carpet. 

 

“Fourth floor,” Hyunbin smiles, handing Minhyun a room key, “though you’ll have to take the stairs over there because the elevator is out of order. Again. And next time you see Jonghyun, tell him I said hi - that guy saved my life.”

 

_ Ah, the discount cousin._ He waves Minhyun off with an awkward smile and disappears under the desk with a yelp as his head collides with the desk’s polished edge. 

 

It takes Minhyun a good ten minutes to finish his ascent up the staircases, including the small break he took on the third floor to catch his breath. To be fair, he works an office job and catches the train so it’s not like he’s exactly accustomed to anything too strenuous. Even if it is just a few flights of stairs and a single carrier case. The most exercise he gets is flinging pens when Jonghyun’s not looking and then asking Seonho if he could look for his _pen that I must’ve dropped earlier near the break room._ It’s like playing fetch with a dog, except it’s a human being.

 

The hallway corridor is lined with plush red carpet, not a bright red like vermillion, but more like a dark crimson - the kind of red that makes everything seem just that little bit more expensive. His room key gleams brightly under the artificial lighting, an _09_ printed neatly in silver. From the exterior, the rooms look identical. They line the corridor like sentries in perfect formation. It’s as if the heavy wooden doors and their gold-detailed handles had simply been copy-pasted all along the hallway. _06, 07, 08,_ Minhyun counts the door numbers as he walks past, muttering them under his breath. 

 

_ 09._

 

The door sits slightly ajar, throwing off the perfect symmetry of the corridor. He thinks nothing of it at first - just the cleaner who forgot to lock the door on his way out, right?

 

Then he hears it. A shrill, resonant sound coming from inside. It sounds like the kind of music that plays when a scene cuts to a dream sequence in a film, the gentle plucking of strings. Except, this clearly is not a film, and Minhyun had not been anticipating a live performance by a choir of angels. For a second the sound cuts off, and then it starts again, this time rolling up cascading rhythm, then ascending to drift to a few short, mellow notes. A harp. 

 

It stops again, but this time it doesn’t continue.

 

He’s seen a few horror films, he knows how these kind of things play out. It could go down in a couple of ways:

 

Scenario #1: Minhyun enters room. He calls out _is there anybody in here?_ like an idiot. Some wacked out dude with a custom made pair of scissors stabs him. Minhyun dies. Blah, blah, blah. Predictable plot, mild gore. 6/10.

Scenario #2: Minhyun doesn't enter room. He sneaks a look the through the crack of the door like an intellectual. Murderer wonders what's taking him so long to enter. Murderer takes initiative and stabs Minhyun outside of the room. Minhyun dies. A bit more interesting. 8/10.

Or, his personal favourite, Scenario #3: Minhyun turns around. He promptly leaves and never returns. No one dies, crisis averted. 10/10.

 

This scenario is the one he would’ve gone with on any other day. But this is not just any other day. He has half a week off and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get what he deserves. Which, in this case, is a nice room all to himself where he can sleep for a few days straight. He will not let himself be intimidated by an intruder with a harp - murderer or not. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open in one sweep, wincing as the ornate frame collides with the wall with a bang. Seems like _Kwon House_ needs to invest in some door stops.

 

A man sits on the edge of the four poster bed with a grand looking harp resting on the floor in front of him. The man lifts his head from where his gaze is transfixed to his phone, looking up at Minhyun with the most gorgeous face he has ever seen on a man. Ever.

 

“Oh, hey.”

 

Minhyun can only stare in reply. The man raises one brow and tilts his head to the side.

 

“Can I help you with anything?” The stranger asks, as if this isn’t Minhyun’s room. 

 

“Ah, yeah. This is my room?” Minhyun glances back at the label on the door, hoping he hasn’t gone completely insane.  Sure enough the gold plated _09_ glares back at him from its position on the door.

 

“Really? Sorry man, mind if I borrow it for a few minutes longer?”

 

Minhyun frowns incredulously, but shakes his head and shrugs in acceptance.

 

“Ah, I guess?”

 

“Sweet, thanks.”

 

Minhyun doesn’t know what he was expecting to happen next, but he sure as hell didn’t expect the stranger to fling himself backwards onto the bed and occupy himself with his phone as if the whole encounter was completely normal. He closes the door with a soft _click_ , slipping off his shoes. Minhyun blinks a few times and shoves his luggage into the wardrobe, shrugging off his coat and tentatively taking a seat at the desk situated in the corner of the room. The room is nice, at least, with a decent view of the city from the paned window and a piano that looks more for decorational than functional purposes against the far wall.

 

It’s quiet for a few moments – the only sound the muffled _tap tap_ of the stranger’s fingers on his phone screen. Minhyun awkwardly watches, mouth opening and closing a few times. _Are you supposed to make small talk with strangers?_

 

“So, you play or something? Harp?”

 

“This thing?” the man laughs, scuffing the gleaming edge of the instrument with his shoe.  “Nah, I stole it. From the ballroom at the end of the corridor.”

 

“But weren’t you just playing before?”

 

“I tried to but the strings weren’t working. So I pulled up a video on YouTube to see what it should sound like. That’s probably what you heard.”

 

“Ah, okay,” Minhyun nods, “that’s why it sounded so famil– wait you _stole_ it? From the hotel? Are you crazy?”

 

“No, I was just kinda bored. And broke. These things are supposed to be worth a few thousand from what I googled,” he replies, not looking away from the phone screen.

 

Minhyun flings himself against the wall, recoiling as if he’d been stabbed. Grabbing the umbrella from behind the door, he moves forward toward the stranger holding it out like a weapon.

 

“Should I call the police? Holy fuck, I’m gonna call the police – you’re a thief! A criminal! You’re in my room!”

 

“Dude, chill the fuck out,” the stranger hisses, “you’re gonna get us in trouble.”

 

“ _Us_? What the fuck, I’m not a part of any of this,” Minhyun barks. 

 

The guy gives him a look and brings his finger to his lips in a _shh_ motion. Minhyun furrows his brows. _What?_ he mouths,  but the stranger ignores him to craning his ear towards the door. Straining, Minhyun can hear a _thump thump thump_ a gradually growing louder from the outside corridor, as if a three-legged bear is going for a nice run in the hallway. It stops right outside the door for a moment before the door swings upon with a forceful _bang_ that makes Minhyun wince.

 

“Minki! Sorry I’m late - the elevator’s out of order so I had to take the stairs. All three flights.”

 

A man stands in the doorway, huffing from his sprint down the corridor, shirt askew, and slightly perspiring. He gives Minhyun a glance, raising his eyebrows at Minki.

 

“Who’s this guy, our getaway man?”

 

Minhyun gawks, and Minki shrugs. 

 

“I’m trying my best, he doesn’t seem too keen though,” Minki replies, standing up to shut the door. 

 

Minhyun sits himself on the bed, looking between the two strangers now occupying his room. He tosses the umbrella still in his grip onto the floor. He should be asleep by now, having a nice relaxing break not caught up in some kind of petty crime that seems to be transpiring. 

 

“Sorry, I know this seems rude, but who the fuck are you? Another criminal?” Minhyun almost whines. The sheets on the bed are so soft, he just wants these two out so he can go to bed.

 

“Nah, this is Aron. He’s _supposed_ to help me with the heavy lifting,” Minki glares. 

 

Aron gives Minhyun a little awkward wave, which isn’t even really a wave, more like just a hand suspended in the air. A stop sign, really. Minhyun sighs. He kind of appreciates Seonho now, for building up his patience and tolerance. It’s there - but its wearing thin. He sucks in a breath and waits for the other two to pause in their own conversation before opening his mouth.

 

“Okay, listen. I’ve had a really shitty week - actually, more like a month - and I’d really appreciate it if you two cleared the fuck out of _my_ room, which is mine and belongs to me. Please.” 

 

The pair stare at him blankly, and then back to each other.

 

Minhyun drops backwards into the quilt and closes his eyes. It’s silent for a few moments until Aron and Minki start moving, presumably trying to lift the instrument up and out of the room. Except it doesn’t sound like a lot is being accomplished apart from a few strained noises and the scratching sound of something being scraped across the floor. It goes quiet again.

 

“I know this is bad timing, but do you think you could give us a hand with this thing?” Minki pleads, kicking the harp, “just to the staircase. I’ll give you fifty bucks.” 

 

Minhyun opens his eyes and just stares at the ceiling for a moment. 

 

“Fine,” Minhyun exhales, sitting up and pointing indignantly at the two, “but then I’m going to bed and I better not see either of you again. Deal?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Aron acquiesces.

 

It takes a good ten minutes for the trio to figure out how to lift the instrument in balance, two of which had been wasted as Minki tried to figure out why his fingertips were coated in shimmering gold paint. The journey down the corridor is fine, because it’s flat and straight. The stairwell, however, is a bit more difficult to navigate. It takes a good twenty seconds to get down a single stair without dropping the instrument or pushing one of them down the flight. About halfway down the second staircase they settle for dragging the harp along, with Minhyun and Aron pushing and pulling while Minki fixes the rolls in the carpet behind them. To Minhyun’s surprise, it works pretty well, better than lifting at least.

 

Except they didn’t account for the red and gold trim fur rug adorning the last staircase. 

 

Almost in slow motion, the harp glides down the stairs - bouncing off the lip of a stair somewhere in the middle, creating a cacophony as it lands on the ground floor with a nice dent on the it’s golden edge. Minhyun can only watch as the security guard on duty in the foyer jumps back in surprise and then peers up at the trio on the landing, eyes furrowed and muttering an infuriated _you!_ towards Minki. Minhyun doesn’t bother to run. He’s too tired to anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

To be completely honest the police station isn’t all that bad. 

 

Hyunbin, who would rather his father didn’t find out about the damaged instrument, hadn’t pressed any charges. Technically, they didn’t even steal the harp, just relocated it to the foyer. At least Minhyun isn’t locked up in the overnight holding cell on the other side of the room. He finds the luxury of simply sitting at an officer’s desk quite ironic, as if he was grateful to be sitting there when yesterday he wanted to erase every memory of his work-life from his mind. 

 

He, Minki, and Aron are temporarily cuffed to the desk. “ _It’s mostly for procedural purposes_ ,” the officer had remarked, “ _I’ll let you go once I’m finished filing this report_.”

 

Minki had whispered a _sorry_ to him when they first arrived, but Minhyun is set on ignoring him. Honestly, he should have just stayed at home. Nothing like this could have ever happened at home. The worst situation he could’ve gotten into would have been something like getting into bed before turning the light off. He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his pants and sends Jonghyun a text.

 

[minhyun] 7:08pm

_ help_

_ i’m in jail_

 

“You do realise that the harp wasn’t an authentic instrument?” The police officer on duty remarks, leaning up against the white painted brick wall. A small navy badge on his uniform printed with the name _Kang Dongho_ in tiny white capital letters gleams under the neon office light. He strides over to the desk, his desk, and pulls the swivel chair out to sit on.  “They’re for display, you could buy one on the internet for like, twenty five bucks.”

 

Minhyun wants to die. 

 

“The strings are literally spray painted fishing wire,” Dongho laughs, loud - like a child. Minhyun wants to smack his head against a wall. Aron half-snorts half-giggles under his breath, his head resting against the desk. 

 

“Ah,” Minki muses, peering down at his hands, “so that’s why my fingers are gold.” 

 

“Really? I just thought you had a magic touch,” Minhyun deadpans.

 

Minhyun glances at the report file Dongho’s filling out on the desk. He can’t read much from where he is but he can pick up the words _attempted robbery_ and _weighted plastic instrument._ The uncomfortable metal chair he’s seated in suddenly seems like the most comfortable bed in the world. Minhyun leans back into it’s cold, metal embrace and lets out a long winded sigh. Not even a second later his phone lets out a small _beep_ signalling Jonghyun’s reply.

 

[jonghyun] 7:11pm

_?????_

 

He awkwardly tries his best to reply with his left hand, the right cuffed to the desk. Next to him, Minki is rubbing his handcuff against the vinyl desk, in either an attempt to saw through and break free or carve his name onto its surface. Aron’s face is pressed to the desk - either dead or asleep.  

 

[minhyun] 7:13pm

_ i helped these dudes steal a harp and now i’m in prison_

 

Aron jolts awake, making Dongho’s pen jerk across the page he’s filling out. A long ink stain extends from the top left to the middle right of the paper. Dongho lets out a short, airy laugh. He makes eye contact with Minhyun and gently slides the report into the paper shredder. He has the audacity to smile brightly as he pulls another blank report from his files to restart the whole process. Minhyun grimaces.

 

[minhyun] 7:14pm

_ i’m at the police station_

_ help me_

 

Minki’s grinding of his handcuffs against the desk gets louder. Minhyun smiles at him tensely. 

 

[minhyun] 7:15pm

_ get your discount cousin to bail me out_

 

It only takes a few seconds for Jonghyun to reply.

 

[jonghyun] 7:17pm

_ it’s only 7pm_

_ i said to relax_

_ take a nice break_

_ not take up robbery as a side job wtf minhyun_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i wish i could've written more but this is all i could manage amidst moving house, blood tests, commissions, and an MRI :'(  
>  i hope you enjoyed reading! have a wonderful new year <3


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